


Drowning, not Waving

by Crollalanza



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knows Oliver Wood. He's the seventh year Gryffindor obsessed with Quidditch. But why is he so focused? What drives him on? And how will he cope when the Dementors get too close to his Seeker, and Diggory catches the Snitch? </p><p>Shutting himself in the changing room showers, Oliver cannot bring himself to visit Harry in the hospital wing, for the Dementors have released long repressed horrors in his own life. Will he finally face the reality of his life and obsession?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drowning, not Waving

_I was much too far out all my life  
And not waving but drowning._

  
  
  
“Oliver,” Fred’s voice floated over the shower cubicle. “We’re going to visit Harry in the Hospital wing. Are you coming?”  
  
Oliver closed his eyes and let the warm water flow over his face. He could still see Harry as he fell -- his broomstick whipped away by the wind. As he dropped past the hoops, Oliver had stayed hovering in the air, unable to react.  _I could have caught him,_ he thought.  _I’m a Keeper. My reflexes are superb, yet I let him fall._  
  
“Oliver?” asked George, hopefully.  
  
“I’ll be up later,” Oliver replied. He heard a double sigh from the twins as they trudged out of the Gryffindor changing room. The water faltered and Oliver hit at the rusting pipe, hoping it would come back on, but it stayed stubbornly dry.  
  
“Is he coming?” he heard Katie ask eagerly.  
  
“Nope,” said Fred (or was it George?) “Stupid git’s still sulking. Oh, come on. Leave him alone.”  
  
The water burst through the showerhead. It was cold and flooded over his chest with the force of a hex. Oliver gasped, but did not move. He welcomed the cold. It distracted him from the pain of defeat.  
  
_“Defeat is not for you, Oliver!”_  
  
“I know that, Dad!” muttered Oliver. “I’m sorry.”  
  
The shower was slowly warming up; he leant his forehead against the wall and felt the water, as sharp as needles, prick into his back. If he closed his eyes, he could picture that exact day. His father, Robert, had been tall and burly like Oliver was now. With close-cropped hair and dark black brows, he’d been an imposing figure to his eight-year-old son despite the walking stick that stopped him running after his recalcitrant boy.   
  
_“Get back here, boy. Come and take your punishment like a man.”_  
  
Oliver couldn’t remember the particular crime for that day. It probably had something to do with flying, or Quidditch, or maybe it was the time when he’d told his dad he was tired and wanted to read instead of practise. He’d run and run, despite knowing it was hopeless, despite knowing that he’d have to come home and by running, he was only delaying his thrashing.  
  
_“You’re a Wood, boy. You have a reputation to live up to.”_  
  
“Yes, Dad, and  _what_  a reputation!”  
  
Robert Wood had been a Quidditch Player. A bloody good one and a future international, he told everyone, until a crashing fall had smashed his knee beyond even Skele-Gro’s repair. It had been true about the injury, Oliver knew, but his dad had left out the fact that he’d been drunk at the time, which was why the Skele-Gro hadn’t worked. And that was the reason he’d been fired by the Arrows.   
  
_“We’re winners, Oliver. Woods are winners!”_  
  
“Not today, Dad,” Oliver roared to the empty changing room. “My team lost today and there wasn’t a single bloody thing I could do about it.”  
  
He slumped on the floor, hid his head in his knees, and wept.   
  
_“We don’t quit, Oliver. A Wood NEVER quits.”_  
  
“But this is all too bloody much!”  
  
“What’s too bloody much?”   
  
Oliver looked up to see Cedric Diggory peering over the cubicle wall.   
  
“Sorry,” said Cedric, sounding slightly embarrassed. He looked away quickly. “The showers in our changing room have given up the ghost, so I was hoping to use yours. I thought you’d all gone to see Potter, so I assumed it would be free.”  
  
“The others went,” Oliver replied, “but I ...” He couldn’t speak. Why hadn’t he gone? Merlin, he knew it wasn’t Harry’s fault. When that Dementor had come close, Oliver had felt real despair as it sucked his worst memories to the surface. Surreptitiously, he wiped away the tears on his face, hoping Cedric would think it was merely water from the shower.   
  
_“You’re no son of mine!”_  
  
“I’ll see him later,” Oliver muttered, willing his voice to sound steady, but still felt ashamed.   
  
“Are you okay?” Cedric sounded concerned. Oliver lifted his head and, over the cubicle wall, saw a frown creeping across Cedric’s brow, marring – slightly -- that perfect face.  
  
“Yeah,” he said abruptly. “Look, go ahead and use the showers. I’ll be out in a minute.” He stood up and plucked a towel from the back of the door to wrap around his waist.  
  
“That’s okay,” Cedric said as he began taking off his yellow and black Seeker’s shirt. He stepped into the next cubicle and gasped. “Shit! That’s cold.” Then he laughed. “Is that what makes you Gryffindors so brave – taking a cold shower after every match?”  
  
“Yeah,” Oliver joked. Despite his gloom, it felt good bantering with the Hufflepuff Captain. “Taking cold showers is what makes us strong and incredibly hard to beat...” He stopped.   
  
Cedric was silent; embarrassed it seemed at the mention of the match.   
  
“I  _am_  sorry about the match,” he murmured at last. “I didn’t want it to end like that.”  
  
Oliver snorted. “What you didn’t want to win? Merlin, no wonder Hufflepuffs are losers – you don’t even care.”  
  
“That’s not what I meant,” Cedric said, and Oliver could hear a note of anger in his voice. “I wanted to win that match. I want to lead my team to victory and get the Cup for Hufflepuff. I just didn’t want it to be that way.”  
  
“You won. We lost. What’s your problem?” asked Oliver irritably.  
  
“Look, Wood, I already know what people are saying about me,” Cedric stated as he leant on the dividing wall. He stared directly into Oliver’s eyes. “They’re saying that if it hadn’t been for the Dementors, I’d never have beaten your  _golden_  boy. Perhaps that’s true, but I’d have liked the chance to try – to prove you all wrong -- to show that I can be as good as Harry Potter!”  
  
Oliver dropped his eyes first. “So that’s why you asked for a re-match,” he said at last.  
  
Cedric shrugged. “That and it was unfair. No one should have to lose – or win – a match that way.”  
  
“Hufflepuff all the way,” murmured Oliver. “I’m not sure I would have asked for a rematch if I’d been in your shoes.”  
  
“Hopefully you’ll never find out.” Cedric stepped back into the shower spray. “That’s better, it’s warmed up now. I don’t think I could be a part of your team if you really insist on cold showers. I find they’re only useful for one thing.”   
  
“Huh?” Oliver was confused.   
  
Cedric laughed. “Well, why do most men take cold showers? I imagine it must be awkward at times working so closely with those girls on your team. Angelina’s a fine looking witch ...”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Oliver forced a laugh. “She’s a good-looking girl all right.”  
  
“Have you ever?” Cedric stopped shampooing his hair and gazed quizzically at Oliver. He cleared his throat. “Have you ever been out with her, or kissed her or anything?”  
  
“No,” Oliver said quickly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to date anyone on the team. Besides, Angelina seems more interested in Fred and George.”  
  
“Both of them?” Cedric asked raising his eyebrows in amused astonishment.  
  
Oliver flushed. “That’s not what I meant. Angelina’s a nice girl but I’m not sure she knows which one she likes. Besides, she’s only sixteen. I doubt anyone really knows what they want at sixteen.”  
  
Oliver could hear Cedric talking about girls and Quidditch in the background, but a sudden memory of his parents arguing rampaged through his brain.   
  
_“Robert, leave him alone,” his mother cried. “He’s just a boy.”_  
  
_“He’s sixteen – he’s hardly a boy – he’s nearly a man. Or he should be!”_  
  
He clutched at his head and slid down onto the floor again.  
  
“Wood, what’s wrong?” He could hear Cedric above him. “Oliver!”  
  
Oliver could feel himself being pulled up by a pair of strong arms. He slumped slightly against the younger boy’s shoulder. He could smell the freshness of his skin reminding him of a balmy summer’s night.  _Oh, sweet Merlin, no,_ he thought as he tried to wrench himself away.   
  
“Oliver, it’s okay,” Cedric was saying. “I’ve got you now. Just sit back on one of the benches for a while.”  
  
Oliver felt himself being lowered down onto a bench. He looked up to see Cedric wrapping himself in a towel. He knelt down next to Oliver.  
  
“Do you need Madam Pomfrey?” he asked.  
  
“No,” Oliver insisted. “I think I just need some chocolate. Those Dementors got close to me too.” He stood up and began to dry himself. “I’ll head back to my dorm in a minute.”  
  
Cedric didn’t move. “Well, if you’re sure, but I really think you should stay put for a while. I thought you’d passed out in there,” he said at last.   
  
He turned around and Oliver watched as the clean robes he pulled on clung to his still damp skin. Cedric looked up and Oliver found he couldn’t stop staring.  
  
“I’m sixteen,” Cedric said casually.  
  
Oliver opened his mouth to reply – to ask what Cedric was talking about, but the words stuck in his throat.   
  
“You said Angelina didn’t know what she wanted because she was only sixteen,” Cedric explained softly.  
  
_“I won’t have my son growing up to be a fucking nancy-boy!”_  
  
“Stop it,” muttered Oliver, partly to Cedric but mostly to himself. He heard a voice that caused relief to flood through his veins and backed away.   
  
“Oliver!” called Katie from outside the changing room. “Are you decent? We’ve seen Harry and he’s fine. I wanted to check you were okay.”  
  
“I’m fine too, Katie,” he replied, his voice rasping. “Come on in.”  
  


***

  
  
At the end of November, Oliver watched as Ravenclaw comprehensively beat Hufflepuff. He felt a small surge of vindictive pleasure as Cho Chang beat Diggory to the Snitch. Beside him, he heard Katie gasp.   
  
“Does this mean we still have a chance?” she asked him over the roars of the Ravenclaws.  
  
“Yeah,” he replied, looking down into her shining face. “Ravenclaw have just done us a huge favour. What the hell was Diggory  _thinking?_ ”  
  
Katie laughed. “I think Cedric was distracted by their Seeker. Cho’s very pretty, don’t you think?”  
  
Oliver shrugged. “I hadn’t noticed.”   
  
On the pitch below, he could see Cedric removing his helmet and approaching Cho. She was grinning widely and Cedric gave her a mock bow.   
  
“Typical Cedric,” murmured Katie. “Always the gentleman.”  
  
“You talk as if you know him,” Oliver said, a curious note in his voice.  
  
“I do,” replied Katie. She stood up and joined the queue of students preparing to leave the stand. Oliver joined her. “My mum and Cedric’s mum grew up in the same village and were best friends at school. I’ve known Cedric for years.”  
  
Further down, Oliver could see Harry talking to his friends. Oliver caught his eye and Harry gave him a double thumbs up sign. Oliver grinned at him, and then turned to Katie. “Has he got a new broom yet?”  
  
“I don’t know. Last I heard he was still hoping his Nimbus could be fixed.”  
  
“Huh! Unlikely. Well, I hope he gets a move on and gets something ordered soon because thanks to Diggory’s failure to keep his eye on the Snitch, Gryffindor are now back in the running,” Oliver said with a glint in his eye. “I’ll have to set up some extra practices. We’ve slacked off recently.”  
  
“It’s great to have our Captain back,” Katie said smiling. “I don’t know what’s been up with you lately, but ever since that defeat you haven’t been yourself.”   
  
Impulsively, she reached up, hugged him and planted a kiss on his cheek. Confused by the contact, Oliver stiffened, and Katie took a step back, mortified at what she’d done. On the pitch, he could see Cedric being consoled by his teammates, and a girl was running over to him with some water. Cedric kissed her lightly on the lips.  
  
“I’ll ... err ... talk to you later, Oliver, said Katie. She walked away, her head down.  
  
“Hey, Katie,” he called as he strode after her. “Katie, come back. It’s okay.” But she was swallowed up by the crowd and Oliver lost sight of her.   
  
Possessed by some inner demon, Oliver called practice after practice in December. He watched with pride as his team battled weather, exhaustion and even fear (for the Dementors were still close) to produce slick moves. Katie, in particular, seemed to have latched onto his mood and was producing some of her best ever goals. The determination on her face made Oliver swell with pride. He watched as she landed perfectly on the grass.  
  
“Well done,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re flying out of your skin at the moment.”  
  
She smiled slightly and he noticed a faint flush on her cheeks. “Am I?” she asked.  
  
“Yep,” he replied. “Dare I say it, but you’re flying better than Angelina.”  
  
Katie beamed at him and Oliver put his hands on her shoulders looked her directly in the eyes. “You shouldn’t doubt yourself, Katie. You’re a fantastic Chaser.”   
  
They stood together for a while and then Oliver dropped a light kiss on the top of her head. Her hair was soft and smelt somehow warm.   
  
“Wood! Can you get off the pitch?” shouted Cedric as he strode towards them. “It’s our practice time, not yours.”  
  
Katie giggled. “Merlin, Cedric. Keep your luscious locks on. We’re just going.”   
  
Oliver dropped his hands to his sides and felt his fingertips touch Katie’s. Misunderstanding the contact, she entwined her fingers in his. Oliver did not remove his hand. Instead, he glanced across at the Hufflepuff Captain. “It’s all yours, Diggory,” he said, smiling dismissively. “No need to turn into a Banshee. Katie and I can take this somewhere else.” Ignoring Cedric’s raised eyebrow, Oliver dropped another kiss onto Katie’s brow and together they walked off the pitch.   
  


***

  
  
_It had been easy,_ Oliver thought later,  _to date Katie._ She was, without doubt, one of the warmest girls he’d ever met. She understood his passion for Quidditch, didn’t make demands and, he felt ashamed to admit it, just seemed to be so flattered that he’d asked her out. If anyone found it strange that the seventh year Gryffindor Quidditch Captain was seeing a fourth year, no one remarked on it.   
  
They shared a carriage back to King’s Cross at the end of term. With one arm around her and the other holding a Quidditch magazine, Oliver accepted the Bertie Bott’s Beans she sporadically fed into his mouth.  
  
_The great thing about Katie,_ he mused,  _is that she doesn’t expect to be entertained all the time._  
  
Katie shifted her position slightly. “What are you thinking about, Oliver?”  
  
“You,” he replied truthfully. “You’re an easy girl to be with.”  
  
“Easy, am I?” she asked, an impish grin on her face. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”  
  
He flipped her nose. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it, Miss Bell. Merlin, you’re only fifteen.”  
  
There was a silence. Katie sat up slowly and began fiddling with her wand. Looking down at the ground, she began to speak. “Does that bother you? The fact that I’m not older – that I’m not yet sixteen.”  
  
The implication was clear in her voice, but Oliver ignored it. “Why would it bother me?” he asked a touch brusquely.   
  
Katie sighed. “Because ... oh, well ... you know. I mean if you were with a girl your age then you could be ...” She stumbled on her words.   
  
“Stop it,” Oliver said very gently. He pulled her back into his arms and stroked her hair as she laid her head on his chest. “Katie, we’ve been seeing each other for less than a month; it’s too early to be talking of that kind of relationship. Besides, you  _are_  only fifteen.”  
  
The train shuddered to a halt. As they stepped out of the carriage, Oliver holding both bags, he noticed his dad waiting impatiently at the far corner of the platform. Oliver placed both cases on the platform and caught Katie by the waist. Cupping her face in one hand, he bent down and kissed her, very tenderly, on the lips. She lifted her hands and entwined them around his neck, pulling him down for a more intense kiss. Oliver could hear the twins whooping bawdily as he surfaced for air.  
  
“Christmas has come early for our captain,” shouted Fred as they jostled him.   
  
Katie grinned up at him. “They’re only teasing,” she whispered as she pulled him down for another kiss.  
  
“I’ve got to go,” Oliver said in a subdued voice. “My dad’s waiting. Are your parent’s here yet? I guess I can wait with you if they’re not.”  
  
“That won’t be necessary,” interrupted Cedric who was standing behind him. “Katie’s coming back with me.” He picked up her bag and began to walk off. “Come on.”  
  
Katie giggled. “You’ll have to excuse Cedric; he seems to be taking on the role of protective big brother.” She stood on tiptoe and gave Oliver one last kiss. “I’d better go, before he casts a Bubble-Head charm around my face.”  
  
Oliver walked across the platform to his dad, who was watching him with narrowed eyes. “Is she your girlfriend?” Oliver nodded. His dad raised an eyebrow, and Oliver thought he saw a faint smile of approval on his face, but then he frowned. “Well, don’t let her distract you. This is an important year for you, son. If you fly well then we’ll be beating off talent scouts with your broom. Right, let’s get home and you can get some practise in before dinner.”  
  


***

  
“Oliver!” bellowed Robert Wood from the bottom of the stairs the next morning. “Time to get up!”  
  
Oliver opened his eyes and gazed blearily at the clock on the wall. Outside it was barely daylight.  _Merlin, it’s six o’clock,_ he muttered. He turned over and buried his head under the pillow.  
  
“I’ve been calling you,” yelled his dad as he burst into the room. “Come on, lad. Let’s get an hour in before breakfast.”  
  
“Dad,” protested Oliver. “It’s the first day of the holidays, and I’m knackered.”  
  
“That attitude is not for winners, Oliver. Get up ... NOW!” he said, and he wrenched the bedcovers back from the bed. “You sat on a bloody train with your girlfriend all day yesterday. How knackered can you be?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, all right, Dad. Just let me grab some breakfast first,” Oliver replied. He stood up and wrapped his dressing gown around him. It was cold out of bed and he could see the ground outside was hard with frost.  _Almost perfect flying conditions,_  he thought, _except that sun might blind Harry when he’s going for the Snitch._  He shivered. _Not like that storm, when the Dementors came along and Cedric ..._  
  
“No breakfast, son. Work up an appetite in the garden.” His father reached across and cuffed Oliver lightly on the head. “Outside in five minutes.”  
  
His dad drilled him relentlessly. For forty-five minutes, he fired Quaffle after Quaffle at Oliver, shouting instructions, urging him to stretch further, to make impossible saves. He laughed as his son kicked at one with his foot.   
  
“That’s my boy!” Robert said beaming with pride. “You’ll be a Tornadoes player in no time.”  
  
“Tornadoes?” questioned Oliver. “Have they shown an interest then?”  
  
“They will if you carry on like that, son. Just keep practising. Now, go inside and get your mother to make you a big breakfast. A proper man’s breakfast – to keep your strength up.”  
  
_A proper man. A proper man._ The mantra echoed through Oliver’s mind as he trudged back to the house. He’d felt exhilarated when flying, when making those incredible saves. He knew his dad had not held back, and he could feel himself improving under his tuition. And when his dad was happy, Oliver was on top of the world.  _I do want this,_ he thought.  _I want to be a pro as much as he wants it._  
  
He walked into the kitchen through the back door and sat at the table. His mother, Selena Wood, was at the stove, stirring a pan of porridge. She smiled at him and then placed a full bowl in front of her son. Helping himself to sugar and cream, he grinned back at her. “Thanks, Mum. It’s good to be back.”  
  
“It’s only the first day, Ollie. You haven’t had time to miss your friends ... or that girlfriend your dad was telling me about.” She paused and eyed him curiously. “Is she pretty?”  
  
“Who, Katie?” asked Oliver between mouthfuls. He could feel the porridge scalding his throat as he swallowed so he helped himself to more cream and began to blow on each spoonful. “I suppose so. She’s one of my Chasers.”  
  
His mum murmured something and Oliver, unsure of what she’d said, looked at her quizzically. “As long as you’re happy, love,” she said. She looked around fearfully. “That’s all that’s important to me. Your dad goes on and on about Quidditch all the time ... but if that’s not what you want ... then you can say no.”  
  
Oliver reached out and took her hand. “I do want this, Mum. I love Quidditch and I want to be a pro.”  
  
His mother sat down next to him. “Ollie, my darling boy, it’s not just Quidditch. You don’t have to prove anything to  _me_... I hope you know that.”  
  
Oliver looked at his porridge, now congealing. “I don’t know what you mean,” he muttered.  
  
“That summer ... on the beach ...” she replied hesitantly.   
  
Oliver opened his mouth to refute whatever she was about to say, to declare he had no idea what she was talking about, that it was in the past. He wasn’t a stupid adolescent anymore. But the words stuck in his throat. He gazed into his mother’s kind blue eyes and had a sudden overwhelming urge to tell her everything. “Mum,” he began.   
  
“Our son played well, Lena,” Robert Wood’s voice surprised them and Oliver jerked his head away from her gaze. She stood up and returned to the stove.  
  
“Porridge, Bob?” she asked. Oliver noticed that her voice shook slightly as she spoke but it seemed his father noticed nothing.   
  


***

  
  
“Why, Professor? Why can’t Potter have his broom back?”Oliver demanded. Under the penetrating stare of Professor McGonagall, Oliver fought to keep his temper in check. He took a deep breath and tried one more time. “It’s a  _Firebolt._ We’ll be unbeatable!”  
  
“ I am not prepared to risk the life of our Seeker for the sake of the Cup.”  
  
“B-but -- ”  
  
“Wood! Do you care at all about Potter? If that broom is jinxed, he could die. You saw him fall when the Dementors got close, yet you still want to risk his life ...”  
  
“As long as he catches the Snitch first then I –”  
  
“Potter will have to wait until we’ve finished with the broom.  _You_  will have to wait, and that’s my final word.” Professor McGonagall returned to her marking. “Close the door as you leave, Wood.”  
  
Realising that she was not prepared to listen to him anymore, Oliver turned abruptly and resisted the urge to slam the door. Katie was waiting outside.  
  
“Any luck?” she asked sympathetically.  
  
“No,” he snapped and slapped the palm of his hand into the wall.  
  
Katie jumped. “Hey, there’s no need to take it out on me. It’s not my fault.”  
  
Oliver felt irritated and then ashamed. “Sorry, it’s been a bad day. It’s just ... Good God, am I the only one who thinks winning this Cup is important? I thought McGonagall would be on our side.”  
  
Katie linked her arm in his and started to walk back towards the common room. “She is, Oliver, but she has to think about Harry. If Black’s really after him ...” She shivered involuntarily.  
  
“You really think the most wanted wizard in the world could just stroll into Quality Quidditch Supplies, buy a broom, and then parcel it up and send it to Harry? Am I the only one who thinks that’s just bloody impossible?”  
  
“It’s supposed to be impossible to escape from Azkaban, but Black managed it,” muttered Katie darkly. Oliver glared at her. “All I’m saying is that until she’s sure about the broom, Professor McGonagall is not going to risk Harry’s life – even if it means losing the Cup.”  
  
Oliver could feel his head pounding.   
  
_“Oliver! Get outside, NOW!”  
“I have homework, Dad.”  
“You need to practise. Tutshill Tornadoes won’t bother if you play like that.”_  
  
He turned from Katie and fled up the stairs. He made it to the bathroom just in time and retched, splattering the toilet bowl with the remains of his dinner.   
  
_“You’re useless, Oliver. Fucking useless!”_  
  
Shaking, he stood up and headed back to his dormitory. A fire was roaring in the grate and he could feel his head pound even more.   
  
_"You can tell me anything, Ollie. I won’t be upset.”  
“There’s nothing to tell, Mum.” _  
  
Picking up his cloak, he walked purposefully down the stairs, and into the grounds. The night air was cold and as the wind whistled around him, he pulled his cloak tighter. Slowly, he walked towards the lake and sat down on the bank.   
  
“Not brought Katie here for a romantic walk, then?” asked a scathing voice behind him. Oliver looked up to see Cedric approaching. “I saw you heading down here and I’d like a word about her.”  
  
Oliver shrugged. “Go ahead,” he said coldly. “As long as you don’t mind me asking what the hell it’s got to do with you?”  
  
Cedric stood over him. “She’s a friend – a good friend and I’d hate to see her hurt.”  
  
“And you think I’ll hurt her, yeah? For fuck’s sake, what do you take me for? I’m not about to screw her – she’s only fifteen.”  
  
“I don’t mean that,” said Cedric. He dropped down on the grass. “I’m sorry if I sounded harsh there, but I spent a lot of time with Katie over the holidays – you know our families are close, yes?” Oliver nodded. “She talked about you all the time, Wood. It was ‘Oliver says’, ‘Oliver thinks,’ and ‘I wonder how Oliver is?’ the whole time I was with her. She’s crazy about you.”   
  
“I like her too,” replied Oliver stiffly. He got to his feet, but Cedric pulled him back down.  
  
“Not like that, you don’t, and you know it.”  
  
“You don’t know anything at all about me and Katie.” Oliver shook off Cedric’s hand.   
  
Cedric reached over and grabbed at his cloak. Oliver tried to push him away but something, he didn’t know what, stayed his hand. Cedric was close now, so very close. He raised his hand intent on wrenching himself away, but found, instead, that he was tracing the planes of Cedric’s face with his fingertips. He stayed still as Cedric touched his mouth to his and slowly began to kiss him, his tongue gently insistent, teasing his lips apart. Closing his eyes, drowning in long forgotten sensations, Oliver kissed him back. After a few moments, Cedric lifted his head slowly, gently pulling away. “Does Katie make you feel like this, Oliver?”  
  
The mention of her name was as effective as a bucket of cold water. Angrily, Oliver pushed Cedric away. “Get off of me, you fucking –“  
  
“Fucking  _what,_  Oliver. Queer? Is that what you want to say? Go on then, say it, But you kissed me back, so why don’t you start facing up to reality? Then maybe you’ll find the guts to admit the truth to Katie.”  
  
“And you will too, will you, Diggory?” Oliver snarled. “You’ll stand up in the Great Hall and tell the whole bloody school, and all those girls who chase you, that you’re as straight as a pumpkin vine? Because that’s what me telling Katie – or anyone – could mean.”  
  
In the moonlight, Oliver could see Cedric’s face whiten – in anger or fear, he didn’t know. “I thought not,” he said scathingly. “Don’t lecture me on what I should be doing, Diggory, when you barely know yourself.”  
  
As he walked to the castle, he thought he heard Cedric call his name, but he did not turn back.  
  


***

  
  
Oliver sat in the corner of the common room. On the table in front of him were a miniature set of Quidditch players. He prodded them occasionally with his wand. He could hear Fred and George cracking jokes. Angelina and Alicia were laughing along with them, and Katie too was joining in, trying to dissipate the tension that all Gryffindors felt that night. In another corner, he could see Harry with his two friends.  _Thank Merlin he has someone to talk to,_  Oliver thought. He knew he was putting pressure on Harry, but sometimes he couldn’t seem to stop the words erupting from his mouth.  
  
_“We have to be in the lead by more than fifty points, Harry. Don’t catch the Snitch until then.”_    
  
And Harry had yelled back, standing up to his Captain, like a true Gryffindor. Oliver glanced sideways at Katie, who was doing her best to laugh at the twins’ jokes. She looked tired, and he thought her eyes were red. He hoped she hadn’t been crying, but knew she probably had. He’d been sharp with her on more than one occasion recently, and although he’d always apologised, he wasn’t quite sure he could really make it up to her. Oliver ran his hands through his hair; he was desperately tired and prayed he’d sleep well . The win against Ravenclaw, whilst a glorious relief, had piled the pressure on for this game. This last week had been intense; Oliver had called practise after practise and was so exhausted, he hoped to sink into a dreamless sleep tonight. However, this past week, at night he’d not been able to keep a lid on his thoughts.   
  
‘Team! Bed!’ ** he yelled as he stood up. _He_  might not get a peaceful eight hours but perhaps the rest of the team would.   
  
Katie hung around at the bottom of the stairs to the girl’s dorms and although all he wanted to do was crash, he knew he had to stop and say goodnight. She stood on tiptoe and placed her hands on his shoulders. Expecting her to kiss him, Oliver inclined his head down to her. “It’s all right,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m not expecting anything. Just ... get some rest, Oliver and don’t fret too much. Remember, we want this as much as you.”  
  
He pulled her close to him and could feel her heart beating faster.  _Fuck fuck fuck._  He couldn’t stand this. He couldn’t bear to hurt her, but he knew he would. One day he’d do it ... just not tonight. Not before the final.   
  


***

  
  
Angelina was heading towards the Slytherin hoops. Quaffle tucked under her arm, she swerved to avoid a Bludger. Oliver watched, heart in mouth, as five Slytherin players bore down on her. Angry at the goal he’d just failed to save from Montague, Oliver yelled to Fred to do something – anything, to protect Angelina and get their sixty-point lead back. But Fred was too far away, and George’s Bludger missed its target. From nowhere, Harry appeared, shooting into the row of Slytherins, scattering them like ninepins.   
  
“YES!”screamed Oliver as Angelina scored, but his delight was short-lived for Harry had taken his eye off the game and Malfoy was diving for the Snitch.   
  
He wanted to look away, unable to bear another defeat at the hands of the Slytherins. Gryffindor had the best team, the best Seeker and the best bloody broom in the business, yet still Oliver could not lead this team to victory. In slow motion, he watched as Harry turned the Firebolt and began to follow Malfoy.  
  
_He won’t do it_ , he thought in despair. _It’s over._    
  
But Harry would not give up. He flattened himself along the broom and Oliver saw in close-up the determination on the face of the young boy. Letting go of the broom, Harry knocked Malfoy’s arm out of the way and ...  
  
“YES! yelled Fred. Oliver could hear his Chasers screaming with delight and saw his Seeker soaring above the melee, holding aloft a tiny, gold winged ball.   
  
As if in a dream, Oliver sped towards Harry. Blinded by tears, he grabbed the boy and held him tight. He could not speak – could barely breathe – he could only sob uncontrollably on Harry’s neck. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” he gasped finally. Then the others were there, and Oliver did not think he’d ever had a better moment than this.  
  
“We’ve won the Cup!” screamed Katie and the other Chasers. She hugged Oliver, pulling one arm away from Harry and then they all sank down to the Quidditch pitch where Professor McGonagall was sobbing, hat askew and all dignity gone. Still crying, Oliver collected the enormous silver Cup from Professor Dumbledore, who smiled warmly.  
  
“Congratulations, Oliver,” he said. He lowered his voice. “It’s nice to see the Cup back with Gryffindor.”  
  
“Thank you, sir,” he managed to splutter before handing the Cup along to the boy who’d won the match for Gryffindor and bought Oliver a future.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Katie and she was laughing. He felt a hot wave of gratitude towards her and he turned to congratulate her. But she was swept up in another’s arms and Oliver faltered.  
  
“Am I allowed to congratulate you, Katie?” asked Cedric, smiling down at her. He hugged her tightly. “You played brilliantly. You all did.” Cedric looked over her shoulder and stared at Oliver. “Well done, that was a superb match. You pulled off some outstanding saves, Wood.”   
  
Oliver looked at Cedric’s outstretched hand and slowly shook it. “Thank you. I had a great team who all worked hard.” He dropped Cedric’s hand and gestured around him. “I’m very proud of them.”  
  
“We have a wonderful captain,” interjected Katie. She let go of Cedric’s other arm and hugged Oliver.   
  
“Put him down!” yelled Fred euphorically. He planted himself between Oliver and Katie, his arms across their shoulders. “I feel a party coming on.”  
  
As Fred dragged the pair of them to the changing room, Oliver shook his arm free. He turned back and saw Cedric watching him. A girl, the Hufflepuff he’d seen Cedric kiss after his defeat against Ravenclaw, was talking to him, but Cedric seemed oblivious to her presence. Looking unaccountably sad, he raised his hand to Oliver in half-salute, who also returned the gesture. Then Katie pulled him away. He caught a final glimpse of Cedric as he headed for the changing room and was shocked to see how his expression was frozen on his face.

***

  
  
When Fred and George declared a party, Gryffindor rallied to the cause. They may have been fifth years, but their influence was all pervading. Oliver sat on one of the armchairs grinning like a lunatic as he watched Percy try to keep control over his brothers.   
  
“You look very happy there,” said Katie as she approached with a plate piled high with food.   
  
“I am,” he replied, still grinning as he got up. “Have my seat.”  
  
“Don’t be silly,” Katie replied as she put the plate on the arm of the chair. She pushed him back in the seat and then sat on his lap. “We can share.”   
  
Oliver reached down and picked up his Butterbeer from the floor. He felt slightly unnerved by Katie’s closeness, but wasn’t sure why. He’d kissed her many times, held her in his arms, but this felt different. Katie seemed unnaturally close. He looked into her eyes; they were unfocused.   
  
“Have you been drinking?” he asked her.   
  
Katie giggled. “A little. Fred and George smuggled some mead in right under Percy’s nose. “Do you want some?” she asked.  
  
“I don’t drink.”  
  
“You should, try it, Oliver, it might help you unwind,” she said as she laid her head on his chest.  
  
Oliver stiffened as her hand slipped in between the buttons of his shirt. “I don’t need to unwind, Katie,” he whispered as he firmly removed her hand.   
  
“Oh, you do, Oliver,” she said, sighing.   
  
In the far corner, some Gryffindors were singing raucously. Percy was trying to get the first and second years into bed, and he could see Lee unsuccessfully trying to chat-up Angelina. Katie had begun kissing him, his mouth, his neck his ear. He closed his eyes tight, trying not to shrug her off.  
  
“Not here, Katie,” he muttered. “Everyone’s watching.”  
  
She sat up slightly and looked him directly in the eye. “Do you want to take this somewhere more private?” she asked, and he could hear the nervousness in her voice.   
  
“Is that why you’ve been drinking?” Oliver asked. He rubbed at his brow. Conscious that the Gryffindors around them had stopped talking and were listening in, he took her hand and dragged her outside the common room. Katie’s arms instantly wound their way around his neck and she began kissing him intensely.   
  
“You  _do_  want to take this somewhere more private,” she said, laughing nervously.   
  
“No, Katie. You’re only fifteen!”he said sharply. “I’m not doing this.”  
  
Katie stepped back as if he’d hexed her. She bit her lip. “I’m sixteen in five months, Oliver. I don’t care that I’m underage, if it’s what you want.” She took a step closer to him and placed her arms around his waist. “It’s what I want too.”  
  
Oliver freed himself from her grasp and then held her hands. Slowly he pulled her to the floor, and then he stroked her face. “Katie, no. You’re a wonderful girl but –“  
  
“But I’m not what you want,” she finished. “What is it? Am I too young, too fat, too ugly?”  
  
In shock, Oliver stepped back. “Fat? Ugly? Merlin, no!” He cupped her chin in his hand and made her look into his eyes, praying she would not doubt his sincerity. “You’re gorgeous, Katie. You’re warm and funny, and I’ve liked being with you...”  
  
She turned her face away from him. “Liked, not like,” she said sadly. “Are you finishing with me?”  
  
Oliver looked at her. Why ruin this night? It would be easy to string her along. In a month, he’d be free of Hogwarts and he could make better excuses to stop her getting hurt. But ...  
  
He held her close. Her hair still smelt as warm and sweet as it had that day after Quidditch practise. “I’m sorry, Katie.” He could feel her tears soaking through his shirt, and her sobs cut into his core. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he muttered over and over again.  
  
After a while, Katie stood up. Her face was blotchy and her eyes red. “I think I’ll go upstairs.” She jerked her head towards the common room. “Are you going back in?”  
  
Oliver shook his head. “There’s something else I need to do.”  
  
He could hear the sounds of the Gryffindors singing from the other side of the door, and his heart swelled as if it would burst.   
  
“I did it, you bastard!” he muttered to the empty air. “My team won today, Dad. We won the bloody Quidditch Cup.” He knew he should still feel elated. Euphoria at winning should not be wearing off this quickly, but he felt empty. They’d won ... but now there was nothing.  
  


***

  
  
After Summoning his broom, Oliver slipped past Filch, who was doing his rounds, and walked out of the castle. It was still light and the evening was a balmy one. Security had been increased since Black’s last attempt to murder Harry, but Oliver knew the Dementors were outside the boundaries now.   
  
He entered the stadium, unsurprised to see a figure in the air firing Quaffle after Quaffle at the hoops. “It’s easy without a Keeper, Diggory,” he yelled from the ground.   
  
Cedric turned his head and flew lower. “Then Keep for me, Wood.”  
  
Laughing, Oliver kicked off and was soon soaring high into the sky, guarding his hoops. “Are you trying to be a Chaser now?”  
  
Cedric shrugged. “I’m not the right build for a Seeker, am I? It was more my dad’s idea than mine. He said the Seeker always gets the glory.”  
  
Oliver stopped as Cedric sent a Quaffle right through the middle hoop. “Is that what you want – glory?”  
  
“Possibly. I’d like to make Hufflepuff known for something other than losing!” he said bitterly. He sighed ruefully and then added in a lighter tone, “Chasers get glory as well. It’s the Keepers no one remembers.”  
  
“Oy! I don’t think my team’ll forget me,” argued Oliver, but he was smiling. “I’ll be haunting their dreams with my tactics talks for years after, I expect.” He stretched out and caught the Quaffle as it soared near his right hoop. He paused for a long moment, and took a deep breath. “Did you know I’d come here tonight?”  
  
Cedric flew closer.“No... I hoped you would, but I didn’t  _know_. I never know with you, Oliver.”  
  
Oliver threw the Quaffle back to Cedric, but instead of aiming at the hoops, Cedric started flying back down to the ground. Hesitating only for a moment, Oliver followed. They sat in the middle of the pitch, Cedric picking at the blades of grass around him. Oliver waited.  
  
“That time by the lake,” Cedric said at last, “I shouldn’t have lectured you about Katie. I’m sorry.”  
  
“You were right,” Oliver replied. “I was a coward not to admit it earlier. I was using her and now she’s got hurt.”  
  
Cedric jerked his head upwards. “You finished with her.”  
  
Oliver nodded. “Tonight. But if I’d had the guts, I would have done it months ago and not let this drag out.” He stopped and lifted his eyes to the heavens. “I didn’t want to put her off her game. So what kind of bastard does that make me?”  
  
“Perhaps that’s why you’re a winner,” suggested Cedric. “That streak of ruthlessness – it sets you apart.”  
  
“And breaking a girl’s heart is a small price to pay,” Oliver muttered darkly.  
  
“I doubt her heart will be broken for long,” said Cedric. “Katie’s a resilient girl.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
There was a long silence. Oliver noticed how Cedric was now perfectly still, as if he were waiting for something.  
  
“Are you going to turn pro?” Cedric asked at last.  
  
_It always comes back to Quidditch_ , Oliver thought. _Perhaps that is all we have in common._ “Yes, I think so,” he replied. “Puddlemere are interested.”  
  
“Puddlemere?” Cedric sounded surprised. “I thought you were angling for a spot at Tutshill Tornadoes. Aren’t they your local team?”  
  
“Yeah ... that’s why I want to go to Puddlemere.” He laughed slightly at the bemused expression on Cedric’s face. “I don’t want to live at home, and Puddlemere is far enough away for me to use the excuse that I can’t Apparate all the time. I failed my Apparition test twice and it’s not something I’m particularly fond of.”  
  
“What’s wrong with home?” Cedric asked softly.   
  
Oliver sighed and pushed his hair back from his face. He lay down on the pitch and gazed up at the sky, noticing that the moon was just starting to appear. “My dad is the problem.”  
  
Cedric propped himself on one elbow and listened as Oliver began to tell him about the constant practise sessions, the endless abuse if he got it wrong, and the pressure he felt to be as good as his dad.  
  
“Except he wasn’t any bloody good. He was a drunk who fell off his broom and smashed his leg up too badly to carry on playing. His drinking became worse then, and he’d use his fists.” Oliver stopped. Cedric leant forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Go on.”  
  
“When I was seven he beat me so badly that I couldn’t walk for days. Yet still I wanted to be like him, so I began to play Quidditch. I’d practise by myself, desperate to be like my dad, in the hope he’d show me attention other than the back of his hand.” He could feel Cedric’s hand squeezing his arm, but he did not shrug it off.  
  
“In the end it wasn’t him that noticed me, but one of his old Arrows’ teammates. He came by and saw me flying. He fired some Quaffles at me, and then told Dad I’d make a good Keeper.  
  
“Dad finally had a goal in life. Turn his son into an International Quidditch player – and that’s been my life ever since.”  
  
Oliver closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories of tortuous practise sessions where his dad would punish him for every Quaffle he dropped. Robert Wood had stopped drinking but the violence remained.  
  
He could feel Cedric’s breath upon his cheek before their lips touched and he gave himself up – utterly – to the glorious touch of the soft mouth on his. Cedric’s hand slipped between the buttons of his shirt and Oliver could feel him unfastening them.   
  
“Merlin, you’re covered in bruises,” Cedric murmured softly.   
  
“Courtesy of the Slytherin Beaters,” explained Oliver. He did not want this to end. The feel of Cedric’s hand upon his skin was enticing, but ...  
  
He sat up and pulled his shirt back around him.   
  
“What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you want?” Cedric asked and he tried to pull him back to the ground.   
  
“I’m scared,” Oliver admitted. In the moonlight, he could see a bemused expression on Cedric’s face.  
  
“I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Cedric replied, sounding slightly scornful. “And I thought you Gryffindors were brave.”  
  
“I know you won’t,” Oliver replied. “And honestly, I’m not scared for myself, but ...”   
  
“What then?”  
  
Oliver squared his shoulders and looked all around the pitch. He focused on the hoops he’d been defending at the end of the game.   
  
“Two years ago, I met someone.” He closed his eyes as he remembered the loneliness of that holiday. With no companions and his parents constantly arguing, Oliver had taken to walking along the beach, letting the waves lap against his feet. And there he’d met Danny. “He was a Muggle boy – well, a man I suppose. Eighteen years old and ...” He laughed. “You know what it’s like, Cedric. Sometimes you just click with people.”  
  
He could feel Cedric’s gaze upon him but did not stop talking.  
  
“One night, things went too far. I didn’t care. It was what I wanted and I knew that this was what I was. It felt  _right._ ”  
  
“Did he dump you or something? Are you scared of being hurt?”  
  
“Merlin, no. That’s not what this is about. We were discovered. My dad found us on the beach and he beat the fucking crap out of Danny, before turning on me.”  
  
He shivered despite the warm night, remembering the powerful fists pounding into Danny. The beating had continued when Danny was lying on the ground, unable to defend himself, and when Oliver had intervened his dad had flown into a greater rage, raising his cane and whacking him across the face.  
  
_“I won’t have my son growing up to be a fucking nancy-boy!”_  
  
Oliver stopped talking and turned his gaze on Cedric. “I know what everyone thinks. ‘Wood’s an obsessive with only Quidditch on his mind’, but it was the only way I could keep my mind off that night. And I was succeeding ... until I got too close to a Dementor and then you walked into our changing rooms. The memories came flooding back and I couldn’t bear that happening to anyone else.  _That’s_  what I’m scared of.”  
  
“What, so you’ll live a lie all your life?” Cedric demanded.  
  
“No. That’s why I want the move to Puddlemere – that and they’re after a reserve Keeper whereas at Tutshill I‘ll be one of many.”  
  
Cedric chuckled. “Typical! Your tactics as usual are flawless.” He paused. “What if I said I wasn’t scared of your Dad? That I didn’t care who found out about us.”  
  
“I’d say you were a liar,” responded Oliver, “and also that you still don’t really know what you want.”  
  
“I want you,” Cedric stated. He grabbed Oliver’s arm and pushed him to the ground. There was no tenderness in the kiss this time, just a raw and heady passion that sent Oliver’s senses reeling. He did not – could not – resist as Cedric nuzzled at his neck, sliding his hand downwards, his chin grazing Oliver’s stomach.   
  
His last coherent thought, before he surrendered to bliss, was the feeling that now he could truly fly.  
  


***

  
  
“What happens now?” Cedric asked later. They were sitting in the commentary box, Oliver trying to relive every last moment of that glorious match. “To us, I mean.”  
  
“I meant what I said,” Oliver replied. “I’m not sure you do know what you want.”  
  
“Haven’t I just proved you wrong?” Cedric asked, his grey eyes darkening.  
  
Oliver placed an arm around his shoulders and smoothed back a lock of his hair. He kissed him very faintly on the lips. “I’ve seen the way you are with girls, Cedric. You’re not like me. And look at you. You’re so bloody good-looking; you could take your pick.” He cupped Cedric’s face in his hands. “Merlin, Diggory, don’t you ever look ugly?”  
  
“Give yourself two years,” he continued. “Pass your O.W.L.’s. Get through your N.E.W.T.’s, and then if you decide a reserve Keeper for Puddlemere is really who you want to be with...” He trailed off and just stared into his eyes.   
  
“You doubt me.” Cedric sounded sad.   
  
“I doubt my capacity to make anyone happy,” Oliver replied philosophically. “And I don’t want to ruin your life.”   
  
Cedric sighed. “We should be getting back before Filch locks all the doors.” He stood up and began to walk towards the wooden steps. “You wouldn’t ruin my life, Oliver. However, I’ll play it your way, using your tactics,” – he smiled crookedly – “you were always good at the long game, after all. But two years from now, I’ll be barging into the Puddlemere changing room, asking to use the showers.”  
  
Oliver laughed. “Where I’ll be drowning myself after another defeat.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story about four years ago for another site, and Oliver/Cedric quickly became an OTP. I hope you like the story.


End file.
